Page 8 of Bound to the One-Night Stand

Many people gather around a couple as he draws back his arm and lets the whip fly. Shock roots me to the spot as my pussy spasms with each crack in the air. What the hell is happening to me? It must be all the Alpha pheromones drifting about. It’s the only rational explanation as to why I’m practically dripping with slick.

It’s definitely not my heat. My suppressants see to that. But I find myself inexplicably drawn to the scene, my feet carrying forward despite the voice screaming in my head to stay back. What would it feel like, I wonder.

CHAPTER 3

DEVIN

The sounds and sighs of pleasure fall muted upon my ears. There’s a hush throughout the room that shouldn’t exist, but somehow does. It’s what makes La Petite Douleur worth every bit of the notoriety it possesses.

But then they dilute that magic by allowing in newbies twice a year. It’s not always bad, though. Most times, there’s at least a handful of people who know what they’re doing. They just hadn’t had the chance to join yet. Perhaps they were new in town or missed an open house before.

Either way, they mingle in with the others as if they belong. Tonight, however, it’s a far different story. The newbies stick out like a sore thumb, standing around gawking and pointing. Even without their pale bracelets, I'd be able to pick them out of a crowd. They wander aimlessly as if they've never been to a club like this before.

There should be a BDSM course they have to take before even thinking of stepping foot into this place. Though I’ve voiced this concern, I’ve been shot down. Elitist is the word they used. Gatekeeper was another.

So what if it is? There are other clubs who I’m sure can cater to people so inexperienced. La Petite Douleur should be a haven, a place of refinement and class. And I’m not just talking about the clothes people wear as they do their scenes. I couldn't care less about the diamonds dripping from someone’s throat.

What I’m more interested in is the graceful submission of someone who knows their place—be it Alpha, beta, or omega. The trappings of fineries are just window dressing. I yearn to find the willing submissive underneath all of that.

Exasperation travels down my spine as I adjust my mask. Whoever thought of making this a masked gathering was out of their mind. How are we supposed to engage with the newcomers if we can’t even see their faces?

It makes sense when everyone already knows who they’re playing with, but this just seems downright dangerous. For once, I’m grateful not to be a dungeon monitor. It still doesn’t stop the itching in my palm when I see some pink-bracelet buffoon doing something reckless or stepping out of line, though.

Shaking my head, I glance around at the people playing, my teeth grinding as I watch the affair, desperate to detach myself. After tonight, it will go back to the regular crew, and I can allow myself to play without worrying about everyone else. Unfortunately, that’s not tonight.

I’m not even sure why I came in the first place. Rising, I dust my hands off on my pants and move to leave when a bit of movement catches my eye. Justin wields his whip, his movements fluid, like lightning arcing. It's always a pleasure to watch a master work.

Off to the side, a small woman, an omega by the looks of her, inches forward, her eyes trained toward the movement.Her pink bracelet stands out like a beacon, nearly glowing in the light. Fucking newb.

Any moment now, she’ll stop. She has to. But she doesn’t. I look around for a dungeon monitor, but they seem fully engrossed in a conversation with someone else. Not my circus. And yet, I can’t just let her get into harm’s way.

Justin rears back, not realizing someone is so close behind him. But I know his movements. I have just a few moments to get this stupid girl to safety. With a growl on my lips, I stomp forward and wrap my fingers around her arm, hauling her away.

A surprised squeak drifts up from underneath the mask and goes straight to my balls. They shouldn’t tighten from her reactions. Not when she’s being this stupid. For a moment, she follows me, allowing me to take charge of this situation.

However, that show of submission is short-lived. Like a live wire, she explodes into movement, jerking her arm out of my grasp. Electric blue eyes snap at me as her full, lush mouth turns down into a frown.

“I didn’t consent for you to touch me,” she bites out. “Let me see your bracelet.”

My jaw drops as I stand there, stunned. The omega beneath me is a quiver of fury, a mass of indignation… as if she has the right to be upset atme. Refusing to answer, I cross my arms and pin her with a glare. Only, after a few moments, I realize she probably can’t see the damn thing because of the ridiculous mask.

“Who are you to demand anything of me?” I inquire, wishing to know just where she gets the hubris to be so demanding.

“Kessily said-”

“Kessily,” I sputter. “You know Kessily?”

Her shoulders drop a touch. “Well, yes. She’s my… My… Um… I’m her plus one?” The omega before me searches for the words, again showing just how naïve and unknowledgeable she is.

“She’s your handler?”

“Well, that’s not how she put it, exactly. She vouched for me.”

“I see. And did she realize she was vouching for a moron?”

“Hey now,” she snaps out, her eyes flashing in the lights. “That’s very rude.”

“No.” My lips twist into a sneer as I lower myself to her level. “You making demands of me after I kept you from harm is rude. Where is she, anyway? If she vouched for you, she needs to be keeping you safe.”

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